howdymynameisjeans
Chaos Gremlim (he/they)
ABOUT ME:
Howdy!My name is Edmond/Jeans! I use he/they pronouns
I’ve been roleplaying around ~7 years and have been using this site a couple years, though I had to make a new account. Nevertheless! I’m back and more ready than ever, looking for some long term writing partners
For context, I am 20 years old, transmasculine, and queer. I like to consider myself pretty literate, but I'm an undergrad in college as well as balancing a part time job and other excursions. My goal is to respond OOC everyday and give regular updates about the story as need, and have legit story replies a couple times a week to daily, depending on a whole slew of factors. I love to plan stories and become friends with my writing partners, so if you want to chat be sure to hit me up! I roleplay original characters pretty exclusively due to the fact that I’m pretty out of the loop on media, but other than that I’m pretty open.
Some personal interests:
-I am an artist and I specialize in character design, portraiture, and painting. If I'm invested enough there's a good chance I will draw our characters.
-I've been running Dungeons and Dragons Campaigns for the last three years and have fallen in love with the fantasy vibes.
-Tetris. I am a maniac for Tetris. If you're on tetr.io we should battle each other.
What I'm Looking For:
-18+ for anything romance related!! I get a little weirded out writing with minors, 16-17 is a maybe, but the plot has to be appropriate to age (I won't write a romance with a minor, but there are many other stories to write).-Good writing vibes! Provide me with a writing sample if you can. Quality over quantity ALWAYS, but I still need to have something to work with
-Friendly OOC chat, and will plot with me. I'd love to make friends, sure, but I am also the type of writer who wants to know the plot, the next two scenes, and where the ending is (the ending thing might not happen immediately, that's fine).
-Will fangirl over our characters and stories with me. Let's get excited! I'm here to have fun, so let's have fun!
-Good grammar
-Let me know any triggers you may have so we can discuss
-A respectful portrayal of any mental illnesses, and maybe stray away from any you don't personally experience or know much about.
With that out of the way!
Plots:
These are pretty loose! Tell me any ideas you have too!
No, This Was a Mistake (College Town/Modern Romance, MxM/NB)*****
Set in a college town, M/C is dragged with his friends to the local queer club to celebrate the end of the year. Feeling reckless and a little self destructive, M/C
goes home with Y/C for a one night stand. Y/C wakes up, and M/C has been long gone. Without getting any contacts, all Y/C remembers is M/C's name, appearance, and who he was with at the club. (As per RPNation rules, there will be NO sexually explicit content! This is all about the afterwards. Allusion is one thing, but NOTHING sexually explicit. Otherwise, I have a lot of ideas for where this plot could go.)
Oh Kiss Me, Son of God (Medieval/Modern Fantasy, MxM/NB)**
Set in the culty town of Watercrest. Y/C moves in with their family. Whether it be for the tightknit community, the religious influences, or perhaps the wealth of the town doesn't matter. What matters is that there's something dark lying under the surface. Strange almost ritualistic behaviors, unspoken rules of conduct, talk of humanoid sacrifice. In the midst of it all, Y/C meets Jiang. He's a ray of sunshine in all the weird, but still deeply buried in all of this culty nonsense. However, while everyone else uses the Goddess, Boldrei, as a means of fear mongering, he has been adopted as her son. And her only true follower.
Burning Heat (Apocalyptic Fantasy)*
The world is blistered and bruised, apocalyptic and barely holding on. Low on supplies and rations, there's little hope in survival. Work seems endless for mere scraps. For our characters, there is only true comfort found in each other. Still, they find ways to make life bearable, and learn to enjoy the small things, because the most important thing is that they have each other.
(More to come later!)
Pairings:
First of all, I don't do MxF pairings.
Barista x Regular (MxM)
College Student x College Student
College Student x College Dropout
Werewolf x Non-Werewolf
Cowboy x Cowboy (Rootin' tootin' ready for shootin', but also very gay and not necessarily realistic at all)
Pirate x Pirate (Similarly!! Gay pirates! I have now watched Our Flag Means Death!!)
Member of a Cult x Unindoctrinated (MxM/MxNB, my character is a trans man)
Artist x Muse (FxF/FxNB)
Indentured Servant x Master's Kid** (Not immediately romantic, possible slow burn. MxM/MxNB)
(If you have any ideas, leave a comment or pm me. These are by no means all-encompassing, just ideas off the top of my head)
Settings I adore:
Small, rural, fantasy town. This can range from high fantasy medieval Lord of the Rings style town all the way to modern inspired low fantasy/minor magic and maybe some fantasy races with a mix of technology. When writing something in this sort of vibe, the only thing I haven't found a way to incorporate in satisfying fashion has been present day cell phones.
College towns. Currently, I live in a college town, and I love the vibe of somewhere small and pretty reserved centered around a big college.
Mid-size cities. Small enough that people can become familiar with each other, especially right around where they live and frequent, not too big that it's all tourism and gentrification.
Anything during war! Buildup to a war, during war, or post-war. It's all very interesting to me. However, I'm not into military plots or characters. What I like is political play, protest, riots, and everything outside of the actual battle.
Not Sure About Any of Those? Try,
Characters:
John "Chance" Doe (He/Him)******Chance is the character I've had the longest. I made him 5 years ago and have been developing him ever since. He's changed a lot, he's grown a lot, and I just love him more and more. He's the hopeless boy in his head who doesn't believe in change and doesn't believe that he deserves help or good things. He's independent to a fault and through that finds himself often in very sticky and uncomfortable situations. He's my character I would play as the Indentured Servant role.
Jiang Agosta (He/They)
Like Beth, Jiang was also originally one of my Dungeons and Dragons, however, he was a human cleric. In a lot of ways, he is the antithesis to her. He was raised in a very religious cult and in a large family (the specifics can be changed for setting, but his setting is very developed if you're interested in some fantasy!!!). He's a healer and so full of anxiety and devotion. His love is complete and undeniable and unavoidable and inevitable. He's my character I would play for the Member of a Cult Role.
Corduroy Howley (He/Him)
This is my current newest guy and my hyperfixation. He's my silly autistic werewolf who is just like me. Anti-capitalist, anti-establishment, ready to fight a fascist and kiss a man. I want to put him in everything. He deserves someone who will love him even though he's a fighter and a biter.
Beth Norman (She/Her)
Beth was originally one of my Dungeons and Dragons characters. She is a tiefling (but doesn't have to be in our story depending on setting) born to two human parents for reasons. (Don't mess with demons if you don't want them to curse your future children. SMH) Raised as a cleric, she never received any holy blessings, but did develop ungodly rage which developed into her becoming a barbarian. She's soft and kind and perfect. Except she killed her parents in a blind rage for what they'd done to her and ran away. She's closed off and secretive a lot of the times. She has an exterior made of concrete and trust issues to reinforce it. However, she does for others almost to a fault and is still learning to say No. She's my character I would play for the Artist role.
Last But Not Least
I will leave you with a writing sample. May it sway your decision.His name was John, but he kept that to himself. Favoring his childhood nickname, Chance, he gave himself ample opportunities to forget as much of his unnecessary past as possible. However, a tradition was a tradition, so every morning he woke with a start and in a cold sweat, wiped the disgust from his brow, and added a tally to his tattered journal.
The sun was lazy compared to Chance, but only because he rose before the flaming orb had woken and before the bats had gone to rest. Another tradition, he supposed, born from years of unrest and submission to the whims of consistency. Also, adding to his overworked nature, he began his indentured day by meeting the innkeep, whose name he didn't know, but was told to refer to her only as The First Sonar, or simply Sonar. She kept his pockets heavy, full of coin or instructions but always full, and made sure Chance always had a place he could come back to. Quick interactions, nothing more than business, made up their relationship.
His brow was wiped, he clothed himself modestly enough, and he creaked down the decrepit stairs. Every step was salient and a beacon that made him cringe. There was no need for everyone to know he was coming down from his heaven-bound burrow. The First Sonar greeted him with a shout echoed behind the counter and behind a door, one which led to the kitchen. Chance stopped in his tracks, unworried by the crashes.
Crescendos of cicadas buzzed and screeched. It must have been later than he'd thought. He turned on his heels like a ballerina or a tap dancer, with much more grace than he was owed, and stole only a single step. Since it was so late, he'd intended on returning to his cozy hole and pretend to rest until the summer cicadas, nature's backwards alarm clock, quieted. Then, he could make his appearance without disturbing any others. However, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Chance's head whipped around, he reached for a sword that was not present, and came to confront a barely familiar woman.
A reinforced tower stood, adorned with graffiti tattoos and the formal-casual clothes of a lady who cared not what her customers thought of her as long as she could make enough money to keep her inn opened and her favorites taken care. She wouldn't tell him, but Chance was one of her favorites, her personal project that she through jobs at in attempts to make him stronger. Her well-read eyes pierced through him the same way the old librarian's would when he stayed an hour too long.
"Good morning," He croaked out, his voice not yet ready to be heard.
"Almost, yes," She said in a whisper. Chance turned toward her and already mourned the prospect of laying back down. "I have a job for you."
A tornado breath filled his lungs, the swirling rustled his insides and left him anxious. He released his natural disaster in a huffed sigh. "It's always a new job. I just got back a few hours ago. Can I not have a day?"
"I need you to go to the market for me, Chance."
"Oh, well. That's not so bad. I can handle that, probably." He rocked on his heels. "What's the catch?"
The First Sonar dug a note pad from her apron and scrawled a list on it. "No catch. I'll give you some coin. Leave for the market as soon as the sun rises or you'll be left with the dregs. I need high quality, Chance, don't leave with half-assed goods. And don't pocket the rest of the coin for yourself." She pulled out a pouch and handed him the list and the coin. "I know how much I've given you," and don't forget what happened last time you short changed me, her glare finished.
Hours passed as minutes and he was rushed to leave. Dressed like a decaying sunset, he wore oranges and browns and greys that were as cold and dark as the bitter winters. His boots were well worn and in desperate need of replacement, his tunic was stained and battle-torn, his pants were ripped and poorly repaired by hand. However, they kept him properly covered, and that's more than he could ask for. The coin jangled in his pocket as he marched to the center of town. He studied the list in attempt to commit it to memory:
Six Dozen Eggs
10 Pounds of Flour
2 Bolts of Canvas
10 Pounds of Bacon
The Butcher's Best Cut
The Freshest Greens
Her list continued, and he pondered how he would tote it back to the inn.
Before he perused the market stands, he stopped by the bulletin board. It'd become a habit, he could always rely on work from the wanted posters. He'd become a sort of mercenary for monsters, hunting them with trickery and bringing them back. Chance kept no trophies, he had no interest in killing for death, only for the comfort in having enough coin to hold and rub together. More than that, he'd become well-known in the village; he never used his notability to take advantage, but he also never refused the kindness of others. Folks had given him floors and haylofts to sleep on, food to eat, and a community better than any he'd ever been a part of before.
While he examined the board, a middle aged man came with a stack of posters, a handful of nails, and a hammer. "Morning, Chance," He greeted while he positioned the sheet and hammered it in. "The devil's back in town." The Folk Hero of Felton glanced at the viridian monster. "I see that, Mr. Glorn. Figured the guy I brought it to would've made a mantle out of it, or something. He had about 40 deer heads in his house. Guess he'd only wanna display the beast if it'd shapeshifted into a twelve point stag."
No laugh was granted to him, but a smile tugged at him own self-satisfied lips. "I can go back to the search after my errands," Chance said.
"We'd greatly appreciate it. One of our lambs went missing Monday."
He felt he overstayed his interaction and left with a nod and a noncommittal promise to return to his endless work.
Chance followed the path between stands and enjoyed the hunt of his grocery list. It was much more peaceful and fulfilling than murder.
The sun was lazy compared to Chance, but only because he rose before the flaming orb had woken and before the bats had gone to rest. Another tradition, he supposed, born from years of unrest and submission to the whims of consistency. Also, adding to his overworked nature, he began his indentured day by meeting the innkeep, whose name he didn't know, but was told to refer to her only as The First Sonar, or simply Sonar. She kept his pockets heavy, full of coin or instructions but always full, and made sure Chance always had a place he could come back to. Quick interactions, nothing more than business, made up their relationship.
His brow was wiped, he clothed himself modestly enough, and he creaked down the decrepit stairs. Every step was salient and a beacon that made him cringe. There was no need for everyone to know he was coming down from his heaven-bound burrow. The First Sonar greeted him with a shout echoed behind the counter and behind a door, one which led to the kitchen. Chance stopped in his tracks, unworried by the crashes.
Crescendos of cicadas buzzed and screeched. It must have been later than he'd thought. He turned on his heels like a ballerina or a tap dancer, with much more grace than he was owed, and stole only a single step. Since it was so late, he'd intended on returning to his cozy hole and pretend to rest until the summer cicadas, nature's backwards alarm clock, quieted. Then, he could make his appearance without disturbing any others. However, he was stopped by a hand on his shoulder. Chance's head whipped around, he reached for a sword that was not present, and came to confront a barely familiar woman.
A reinforced tower stood, adorned with graffiti tattoos and the formal-casual clothes of a lady who cared not what her customers thought of her as long as she could make enough money to keep her inn opened and her favorites taken care. She wouldn't tell him, but Chance was one of her favorites, her personal project that she through jobs at in attempts to make him stronger. Her well-read eyes pierced through him the same way the old librarian's would when he stayed an hour too long.
"Good morning," He croaked out, his voice not yet ready to be heard.
"Almost, yes," She said in a whisper. Chance turned toward her and already mourned the prospect of laying back down. "I have a job for you."
A tornado breath filled his lungs, the swirling rustled his insides and left him anxious. He released his natural disaster in a huffed sigh. "It's always a new job. I just got back a few hours ago. Can I not have a day?"
"I need you to go to the market for me, Chance."
"Oh, well. That's not so bad. I can handle that, probably." He rocked on his heels. "What's the catch?"
The First Sonar dug a note pad from her apron and scrawled a list on it. "No catch. I'll give you some coin. Leave for the market as soon as the sun rises or you'll be left with the dregs. I need high quality, Chance, don't leave with half-assed goods. And don't pocket the rest of the coin for yourself." She pulled out a pouch and handed him the list and the coin. "I know how much I've given you," and don't forget what happened last time you short changed me, her glare finished.
Hours passed as minutes and he was rushed to leave. Dressed like a decaying sunset, he wore oranges and browns and greys that were as cold and dark as the bitter winters. His boots were well worn and in desperate need of replacement, his tunic was stained and battle-torn, his pants were ripped and poorly repaired by hand. However, they kept him properly covered, and that's more than he could ask for. The coin jangled in his pocket as he marched to the center of town. He studied the list in attempt to commit it to memory:
Six Dozen Eggs
10 Pounds of Flour
2 Bolts of Canvas
10 Pounds of Bacon
The Butcher's Best Cut
The Freshest Greens
Her list continued, and he pondered how he would tote it back to the inn.
Before he perused the market stands, he stopped by the bulletin board. It'd become a habit, he could always rely on work from the wanted posters. He'd become a sort of mercenary for monsters, hunting them with trickery and bringing them back. Chance kept no trophies, he had no interest in killing for death, only for the comfort in having enough coin to hold and rub together. More than that, he'd become well-known in the village; he never used his notability to take advantage, but he also never refused the kindness of others. Folks had given him floors and haylofts to sleep on, food to eat, and a community better than any he'd ever been a part of before.
While he examined the board, a middle aged man came with a stack of posters, a handful of nails, and a hammer. "Morning, Chance," He greeted while he positioned the sheet and hammered it in. "The devil's back in town." The Folk Hero of Felton glanced at the viridian monster. "I see that, Mr. Glorn. Figured the guy I brought it to would've made a mantle out of it, or something. He had about 40 deer heads in his house. Guess he'd only wanna display the beast if it'd shapeshifted into a twelve point stag."
No laugh was granted to him, but a smile tugged at him own self-satisfied lips. "I can go back to the search after my errands," Chance said.
"We'd greatly appreciate it. One of our lambs went missing Monday."
He felt he overstayed his interaction and left with a nod and a noncommittal promise to return to his endless work.
Chance followed the path between stands and enjoyed the hunt of his grocery list. It was much more peaceful and fulfilling than murder.
Last edited:
